Driving Me Backwards
by JohnLennonsThighs
Summary: Sequel to Two of Us. Paul McCartney, now 70 years old, has kept his grief at bay for 44 years, since the day the girl he loved died. And after that, he lost 3 more very important people. He wants to find acceptance, to let go of his heartache and move on - for good.


_**My name is James Paul McCartney. I was exactly twenty-five years, three hundred and three months, nine thousand, one hundred and thirty-two days old when she died. By she, I mean the girl I've loved since I was sixteen years old. I'm seventy now. And not a day goes by where I don't think about what could have been. If only she hadn't loved my best friend. If only she hadn't accepted him back so easily after the one time he cheated on her. If only I hadn't let her go...**_

_**But what's done is done. That doesn't mean I can't reminisce about the days when she was still alive. Delilah was a ray of sunshine caught in the midst of a hurricane. I have a picture of her in a box full of memories. I try not to take the box out too often. It's too painful. Forty-four years since Delilah, thirty-two since John, eleven since George. And I haven't spoken to Ritchie in what seems like forever. I try not to think about them, and for the most part, I'm pretty damn successful at it.**_

_**"Think of me every now and then, old friend."**_

_**I do, John. **_

_**It's hard. Rainy days find me pulling out the Box. I'll sit there for hours, crying and laughing, remembering. The nostalgia hits harder every time and I'm afraid that one of these days, it'll knock me off my feet. **_

_**I think it's finally gotten to me. I think that's why I'm writing it all down. I haven't been able to fully admit everything to myself, even though it's been more than forty years since a piece of my heart was stolen. It's felt like a sort of dream. And now I'm coming down from it; to meet reality head-on. I want to get over it. I will get over it. That fragment in my chest cavity will always be gone, but I don't think it'll be so raw anymore. I don't think I'll have to pretend. I think... maybe I'll accept it and let it go. **_

_**Where to begin?**_

_**I think I'll start from the beginning of the end. If I go too far back, I'll have too much to write, too much to remember, and too much longing for the past. We'll begin on that day. **_

_**I take a deep breath and press the pen down to the blank page. **_

April 21, 1968

John called me. I remember thinking to myself how exceptionally beautiful the sun looked that day. "Hello?"

Sobbing from the other end. "Hello?"

"Paul... Paul - she's _dead. She's fuckin' dead and it's all my fault whydidnIjuscomehomeearlierI'mafuckinbastardPaulie -"_

I sat up straighter and pressed the reciever to my ear. "John? John - stop. John, who's dead? What are you talking about?"

"_My baby - my baby girl, my angel, my," _More choking sobs. "_Delilah! Delilah's gone, Paul!"_

I dropped the phone and my tea cup, hearing the china break, completely numb to the burning liquid leaking through the thin material of my pants. He was kidding. John always had a sick sense of humor, but this was one joke that had gone _much _too far. I fumbled for the phone and brought it back up to my ear, met with barely-intelligible rambling interspersed with wails and hiccups.

"_...fuckinbluddymaniacshe'sdeadI'mgernakillmeselfIcan'tdoitIcan'tlivewithouterIcan't - WHYWHYWHY TELL ME NOW PAULIE TELL ME WHY FUCKIN HER SHE WAS A SAINT SHE WAS PERFECT WHY NOT ME-"_

"John-"

"_I'LL MURDER THE FUCKER THAT DID 'ER IN, I SWEAR TO GOD I-"_

"_John-"_

"..._she was only twenty-five and I don't - what if she didn't know? What if she didn't know I loved her-"_

_"JOHN, FUCKING STOP IT. CHRIST, JUST CUT IT OUT, YOU SICK FUCK!"_

Silence. "Paul...?"

I swallowed and took a deep breath, responding in an eerily calm voice. "John, I don't know what you're playing at, but it ain't funny in the least bit."

"I - what?"

He sounded genuinely confused. Not a good sign. "Great, you got me! You had me fooled, John! Are you happy? I thought Delilah was actually dead for a minute, there. But don't you ever fucking do that again, you twat."

The line was silent for so long that I thought he'd hung up. "I'm serious, Paulie. She's dead."

The solemnity in his voice was a tone I'd heard maybe once in all the years I'd known him. I knew it was for real. That's when it _really _hit me. Delilah was gone. I hung up the phone, having nothing to say. What _could _I say?

'She was your wife but I'm still in love with her to this day. Since we both loved her how about we get drunk and drown our sorrows together'?

Or maybe the classic, 'I'm sorry for your loss'?

I wanted nothing more than to crawl under the ground and hide forever. Leave everything and everyone behind and curse the world for being so cruel.

That was the day my heart became not one, but _two _pieces. I suppose the chip that was lost went to... wherever it is Delilah went off to. It stayed with her and it always will.


End file.
